


There Will Be Blood

by DoreyG



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Because who knows what can happen in Night Vale, Biting, Bloodplay, Blue!Cecil, Canon Typical Violence, Community: kink_bingo, Kink Meme, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Protected Sex, Shower Sex, Tattoos, Tentacles, With fangs, non-human cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 03:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil does not just have teeth, Cecil has… <i>Teeth</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Will Be Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bloodplay square on my Kink_Bingo card, and also written for an absolutely wonderful prompt on the Night Vale Kink Meme. I think the best thing about my involvement with Kink Bingo has been my discovery of my fondness for blood, really.

Cecil has teeth.

Well, of course Cecil has teeth. Nearly everybody in the world has teeth. It fact, it is considered somewhat of an emergency when people don’t have teeth – if a person, as long as they weren’t under two or over seventy, were to present themselves at any decent hospital without teeth there would be a large amount of fuss. “Why don’t you have teeth?” The receptionists would ask, peering into the cavernous blankness. “Was there an accident?” The nurses would carry on, gently probing into the empty crevasse with expressions that conveyed a level of concern. “We’re going to have to do something about this,” the doctors would finish grimly, already pulling their entirely scientific gloves on and preparing for a long few hours ahead.

But Cecil does not just have teeth, Cecil has… _Teeth_.

It wasn’t the first thing that he noticed about Cecil, for there are a lot of things to notice about Cecil, but it was certainly amongst the top ten. Cecil has, not to put too fine a point on it, rather irregular teeth. Most human teeth tend to maintain a certain level of flatness, a generally uninteresting line with very few jagged bumps that could cause serious damage to most living things. Cecil, however, glorious Cecil with his smooth voice and tendency to launch into a valley girl chirp whenever even the slightest allusion to kittens is made…

Cecil has _fangs_.

They are not flat, they are not uninteresting, they do not look entirely incapable of causing damage to anything. They are pointed, savage looking things that flash every time Cecil opens his mouth. They look a little like something more suited to the mouth of a cat in some lights and a little like something more suited to the mouth of a wolf in others and a lot like something in between most of the time. They sit behind Cecil’s rather lovely lips, sharp and waiting and somehow _hungry_. They’re at their most visible when he smiles, oddly enough.

Carlos is deeply, wildly, _passionately_ aroused by them.

Because here’s the thing, the thing that not many people would think about him if they saw him on the street and respected the laws against mind-reading in the strange little town of Night Vale – Carlos is rather fond of being bitten. Likes being bitten. _Loves_ being bitten. He spent most of his undergraduate years in turtlenecks due to various boyfriends, and would probably still be a devotee of the style to this very day if he hadn’t become basically a hermit after deciding to carry on with his education. He. Loves. Teeth.

…And he’s also starting to grow very fond of Cecil, to tell the truth. Is starting to like the man (well, as far as such a term can apply to a being such as Cecil). Is starting to- Well, after all the years of science that have been crammed in his brain he’s not going to start shouting love from the rooftops so quickly. But he feels, perhaps, like he _could_ love the man (as far as the term can apply) given enough time – and that is a feeling strange and fluttering in his stomach, coiling around his heart, reminding him of various emotions that he thought he left behind in his early twenties.

And so there’s only one problem.

A small problem, really.

…Well, _sort of_ a medium one.

Cecil, beautiful and perfect Cecil who he ends up trying not to melt in front of every time he opens his fanged mouth, refuses to use his teeth anywhere near him.

He’s very careful in the kissing stages, which is fair enough because that was still a little before they actually discussed boundaries or even properly _thought_ about going further. But then he’s very careful in the wild making out stages, when everything is _supposed_ to be sloppy and hungry and all over the place. And when they finally get around to actually taking their clothes off and clambering into bed (and car, and bath, and even up against the wall a few times)… Well, he’s careful even _there_. Lips folded over teeth, a minimal amount of kissing, one aborted blowjob that was ended when he tried to grab Cecil’s hair and a giant wolf-creature burst through the wall.

And it’s not like he _minds_ the other stuff, the handjobs and Cecil underneath him with cheeks flushing a charming shade of lavender and Cecil on top of him with his tattoos surging across his skin and the _tentacles_ … But.

Teeth are so lovely, and Cecil has such lovely teeth, and Cecil is so _lovely_. It seems a shame to let all three of those things go to waste.

 

\--

 

“You want me to do _what_?”

Cecil looks a touch more stunned than he was expecting when he broaches the subject. Cecil looks a _lot_ more stunned than he was expecting – eyes wide and mouth hanging open, throat closing in a convulsive gulp around his still piping hot coffee, blue-shaded fingers curling nervously around the cup. He looks, not to be melodramatic, like he’s just heard news of a meteor about to drop right on top of Night Vale. A normal meteor, made up of rock and unidentified space metals instead of horrific beings from beyond the stars.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, reaching swiftly across the table to grab Cecil’s free hand – it feels cool in his grip, almost as strange as at the beginning when he narrowly stopped himself from balking at the feel of slight suction against his palm. But he’s grown now, developed as both a scientist and a person. He does truly care for Cecil, not all that deep down – the thought of not being bitten irks him, but the thought of losing Cecil… Well, it terrifies him in a way that he’s not too keen to examine closely, “it was just a thought. A silly wish of mine, really. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, really-“

Cecil’s eyes raise up to him, cut him off mid-sentence. It still startles him a little to see the inky universe in there. At first it seemed black and terrifying, but upon looking a little closer… Planets and stars and galaxies. Whole civilisations of unrivalled beauty turning in his boyfriend’s eyes, “but you want me to do it?”

…His boyfriend.

It’s the first time that he’s properly referred to Cecil as that, even inside his head. It pleases him, warms him in a way that he doesn’t expect. He clutches Cecil’s hand all the tighter, clears his throat as delicately as he can before carrying on, “yes, but this is an entirely mutual thing-“

“You do want me to do it.”

“-And if you aren’t comfortable with it then I’m entirely happy to go without,” he finishes, over Cecil’s thoughtful observation. Even leans a little closer, holds on a little tighter to his _boyfriend’s_ hand and smiles right into his universal eyes. He’s surprised to find that he is actually happy, yet another moment in the conga line of shocks that has attended him ever since he arrived in this little town, “because I want you to feel comfortable, and safe, and as happy as you possibly can be. If you want nothing of the sort you can just say, and we can forget all about this.”

Cecil remains silent for a long few moments, and he’s even more surprised to find that he doesn’t even have to brace. It’ll be fine if he denies him. Totally okay. _More_ than okay. They can even go and get ice cream!

“It’ll hurt,” nonetheless, it is a _pleasant_ interlude in the conga line when Cecil doesn’t deny him right away. Only squeezes his hand gently in return and smiles right back into his own eyes, an offering that briefly makes the inkily creeping universe flare with the light of a billion suns, “I mean, they are kinda sharp. They’ve been known to cut up lamb and beef and a few chunks of bone…”

“I’m alright with that,” he blurts, and grins sheepishly when Cecil glances quickly over at his words, “with the cutting and the sharp and… Even a bit of the hurt, actually.”

“You are?”

“I like it,” he finds himself confessing, and lowers his voice even though he’s pretty sure that everybody in the coffee shop is listening in extra carefully. Possibly everybody down the street too. And _definitely_ everybody in the local government with their apparently state of the art espionage equipment. It’s Night Vale, any serious longing for privacy was stamped out of him months ago, “having the bruises all over me, the bites… It gives me something to finger in the morning. And the night, and the afternoon. And all the periods of the day in between, actually.”

“And the blood?” Cecil looks _fascinated_ by that – but not the usual type of fascinated, the one reserved for kittens and bright dangly things that can quite possibly be used to catch kittens. This is the special kind of fascinated, the one that seems only to come out around him – the galaxies fade a little in his eyes, there is only the blackness of the void beyond and the void beyond is _burning_ , “are you alright with the blood, Carlos?”

He has to think for only a second, with those burning black eyes most certainly upon him, “yes.”

“For there will be blood, you know.”

“ _Yes_.”

“Possibly quite a lot of it,” Cecil deliberates for a few seconds more, and then smiles that smile that quite possibly had him hovering on the edge of those deep feelings he refuses to examine too closely from the moment they met. He leans back a little from their huddle, licks his lips almost _deliberately_ for a moment and then tugs his hand free to grasp his wallet and tug out the money and blinking eye tokens necessary to pay the bill.

When their eyes finally meet again, his are still dark with the ever burning void – he finds his breath catching as they rise to their feet, as Cecil gently presses one of his generally humanoid hands against his back and guides him from the coffee shop, “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

He’s so enraptured that he barely notices the coffee shop disappearing into nothingness behind them.

 

\--

 

The moment that he opens his door Cecil kisses him.

Which is not all that uncommon, really, because Cecil really seems to _like_ kissing him. Has, in fact, tended to manage it in every single situation possible ever since he made it clear that impromptu make-out sessions were _totally okay_. He’s kissed him in both their apartments, in the lab, in the Arby’s, on the road, even in the station until the management gave his ankle a rather pointed papercut… In fact it would be more worthy of comment if Cecil _hadn’t_ kissed him. If Cecil, instead, had greeted him with a hug. Or a cordial handshake. Or even an overly polite nod.

But… This time Cecil _kisses_ him.

Not meekly, not timidly, not adorably like he usually does. He steps through the door and dips him a little, practically _attacks_ his mouth with all the hunger of a shark. There’s force in there, and more than a little teeth – he can feel his lower lip being gloriously worried as he belatedly raises his arms and wraps them around Cecil’s shoulders.

“Hi,” the man (well, he says that those are his preferred pronouns and Carlos has always been fond of being accurate) says when they draw apart, a joyous little smile quirking his kissed lavender lips.

“I made dinner!” …He blurts, somewhat surprised to find that his brain has completely shut down at the merest brush of teeth.

Cecil looks briefly shocked, and then fondly amused. He draws back a little, absently brushing a hand against his hair in a way that seems to have become somewhat of a habit by now, and beams his brightest smile – the big one, the one that’s brighter than the sun and shows all his teeth, “we can totally eat dinner if you want! What have you made?”

“Er,” he says, internally kicking himself.

“I trust you’ve cleared it with the council? I mean, I don’t understand these new laws on acceptable foodstuffs myself… But I suppose we must follow them for our own safety. I certainly don’t want you to end up like poor-“

“I don’t want to eat dinner,” he… Blurts again, because apparently that’s all that he’s capable of today. Cecil’s teeth have penetrated into him and removed his brain. He is left foolish and startled, apparently capable only of making a complete fool of himself and imagining Cecil’s mouth back on his flesh, “um.”

“Oh?” Cecil comes to a halt at that, looks _very_ briefly confused before starting to smile again – gently tugging him closer, “but, Carlos, you’ve obviously prepared it. And I’m not sure if the laws against letting things go to waste are still in place, but considering the price if you do it’d probably be best to pay at least some attention to such things…”

“Yeah,” he blinks, recalls the price… Shudders and carries swiftly on, deciding to forget it as much as he can for the time being. Night Vale is a very unique place – he’s stunned that he’s survived for so long, really, “well, we wouldn’t want that. We can eat it later, perhaps, after-“

“After?” Cecil interrupts him, with his eyes gone as dark as the void yet again.

…It’s at moments like this that he remembers how deeply attracted to his boyfriend he is. How deeply attracted to every single part of him, not just the teeth. The eyes like void, the blue skin, the blondish hair that seems normal but sometimes slips into another plane of reality in between glances. The reasonably trim body underneath those stuffy clothes, the tattoos that sometimes just peek out of his shirt and sometimes coil possessively down his arms, the tentacles that seem to manifest purposefully at the very best moments. The way he smiles, the way he feels such blind enthusiasm for every living thing, the way that he can act so much like an overly enthusiastic puppy and then turn into the most tempting teaser in the very next moment. The way that he just _is_.

“After,” he murmurs, breathlessly but clearly, and drags Cecil back in with hands and lips and _teeth_.

Cecil has always been an above average kisser, even with his mouth firmly shut, but with _teeth_ he transforms into possibly the best that he’s ever experienced. He uses just the right amount of pressure, almost hard enough to bruise but hovering just off the edge. His sharp teeth ( _fangs_ ) continue digging into his bottom lip as they stagger towards the bedroom, he can hardly find it within himself to protest.

They slam through the door at a speed henceforth unexperienced and he has just enough presence of mind to kick it half-heartedly shut behind them before Cecil is pressing him back against it. Their kisses continue, growing deeper and deeper. They start, inevitably, to move closer – their bodies sliding together until, with one opportunistic roll of Cecil’s hips, they’re pressed together _completely_.

“Fuck,” he whimpers into Cecil’s mouth at that, and thuds his head back against the wood (he sincerely hopes that it’s wood) of the door, “ _fuck_ , Cecil.”

Cecil only smiles, and moves his _wonderful_ mouth down to his neck. He trails his teeth down lightly at first, learning the lay of the flesh, and then smiles and _bites_ down. Once on the meat between his shoulder and neck, once on the neck itself, once just below his jaw where _no_ amount of clothing can possibly hide it. He bites harder at the last one, trails his teeth down. He swears that he can feel his skin prickle as if wounded in the aftermath.

…It’s not like he _minds_.

He makes a guttural noise at the press of teeth, spares a brief hope towards bleeding and then starts savagely yanking at Cecil’s clothes. Cecil removes his teeth with a faintly painful _pop_ , laughs as his sweater-vest is ripped down his arms and starts to help. His shirt is on the floor in what seems like seconds, his undershirt soon after. His tattoos flail and writhe in the growing light, seeming pleased to be free once again.

He makes another noise, one that’d probably be embarrassing to catalogue, and lowers his hands to Cecil’s belt. He manages to get it undone, and the zipper of his black pants too, but before he can finish-

Well, Cecil is already laughing and grabbing him and turning. His shirt, one of his nicer black ones with some amusing pun about science on the front, is ripped over his head with little ceremony. By the time he tumbles onto his back on the bed his belt is also gone and his best pair of jeans are sliding down his legs along with his underwear. He’s completely bare, because _never_ say that Cecil can’t be efficient when he doesn’t wish to be.

Cecil smirks up at him, obviously sensing his impressed pleasure, and leans back in. He presses an open mouthed kiss to the bump of his hip, and then hungrily digs his teeth in. It soon feels like his blood is on fire, like his skin is too hot and about to slide off. When the man finally draws back at his first whimper, with a predatory little smile, his fangs are red and there’s a certain dampness to them.

“Fuck,” he repeats, breathlessly, and tugs Cecil up for another kiss so that he can taste his own blood on his tongue. Cecil settles against him, pliant and practically humming with satisfaction… He wants to let the moment last, but his fingers are already scrabbling at Cecil’s waistband of their own volition, “ _Cecil_. Clothes.”

Cecil only mumbles a laugh against his lips, and that’s why he lov- _seriously_ likes his boyfriend. He barely draws back from their rocking embrace, shoves both pants and underwear down his legs without seriously breaking contact. He doesn’t _hear_ the thud of shoes hitting the ground, but when their bare legs twine together he feels only skin and so has to accept it as just another miracle from Cecil. He kisses with extra appreciation for that, it seems _entirely_ worth it.

Eventually the – biting, bruising – kiss is broken, but only for Cecil to trail his teeth down again and start nibbling at his neck. Nibbling is a term a touch too gentle, but there’s little else to call it. Cecil bites and bites until he can feel that damp, until he’s whining high in his throat and clawing at the man’s back with his blunt nails. Cecil only smiles against him for that, draws back to briefly lick at his flesh.

“Sweet, beautiful Carlos” …Before crooning, soft and sweet against him as he tries to buck up with loud cries catching in his throat, “condoms? Lubrication?”

He lets out another guttural noise. Another, slightly quieter, one. And then he finally manages to clear his throat, spit out some ragged sort of speech –Cecil licks his throat for it, so he supposes that that’s good. He still has to exert an unseemly amount of effort on every word, “side. Drawer. Adore, _Cecil_ -“

Sweet, beautiful _Cecil_. As he somehow manages to yet again not break their embrace, rolling to the side and tugging at the drawer with an entirely _unfair_ amount of grace. He soon finds himself being pushed back, being pinned against the bed with one deceptively gentle hand. Cecil smiles down at him as he pops open the lube, he feels himself falling deeper and deeper into those eyes.

The first finger is cold and makes him start a little, but Cecil soon soothes him with a little nip against his jaw and a softly soothing purr. They’ve done this enough, by now, and so the small discomfort is soon replaced by a shuddering sort of pleasure. A glorious anticipation that makes his skin prickle, extra tight around every place where Cecil has dug his teeth in.

Cecil adds another finger with a second nip, and a third finger with an actual _bite_ against the other side of his neck. He moans something, possibly the man’s name, and reaches a shaky hand to cradle the back of his neck. He’s extremely pleased when nothing comes barrelling through the wall at that, in his current state he’d probably beat it up while naked and then strongly compel Cecil to take him at least three times in various positions around the apartment.

As it is Cecil withdraws both fingers and teeth at the same time, lasciviously licking at his lips as he does so. He smiles down at him a little, fondly, before sliding the very sensible condom on and slicking himself up. The only hints that he’s as affected is a slight tremble in his arm and the agitated writhing of his tattoos across his faintly blue chest. It’s more attractive than he ever would’ve dreamed a few years ago, when he was selfish and needy and still believed that science worked absolutely _everywhere_.

His thoughts are interrupted by Cecil letting out a long breath, hitching his legs up and _sliding_ in. He lets out a low whimper and closes his eyes, keeps them closed as Cecil gives him the customary second to adjust. There is silence, and stillness, and the indescribable feeling of being filled fully by somebody completely trusted-

And then Cecil leans forward and bites down on his collarbone, and they _move_ faster than he ever thought possible.

Cecil slams into him at a speed that is perfectly merciless. The man had been almost _too_ gentle before, but now he seems to realize that he likes it _rough_. The bed creaks underneath them, vaguely protesting. The headboard starts banging against the wall, but that’s alright because it can barely be heard over his cries.

Cecil also _works_ him in that perfectly merciless way. His hand moves bruisingly down, wraps around his cock in a way that is _just_ that side of painful. He yelps at it, groans at it, hardly minds it. Cecil works him in time with his thrusts, a display of concentration that stuns him and makes him fully determined to appreciate Cecil even more in the future. Perhaps a few more handjobs, a few more blowjobs. Perhaps he’ll even get under Cecil’s desk at the station one of these days, no matter what the management has to say on the subject, and make him-

Cecil _also_ worries at him, and makes him _scream_. He nips, he bites, he _gnaws_. He digs his teeth in wherever possible, and doesn’t seem to care all that much about the damage he leaves behind. Soon his neck aches perfectly, his jaw only a little behind, his collarbone and upper chest getting there quickly. Now that he’s allowed to bite Cecil seems fully determined to take advantage of the privilege, to taste and taste until he’s completely full. It’s intoxicating, to be so deeply addictive to another person.

He feels breathless, headily drunk on his sudden importance.

He feels appreciative, so appreciative that he’s going to go and sing Cecil’s praises to the world the _moment_ he can stand after this.

He feels pained. And worn-out. And _used_ in a way so glorious and aching that he never ever wants it to stop-

And Cecil rears back and bares his sticky, bloody teeth at him. And he _comes_ with a shout, harder than he ever has in all his life.

 

\--

 

When he finally manages to drag himself from bed he feels sticky, bruised. He staggers to the bathroom in a dazed way, still wrung out from pure pleasure. He’s never _felt_ like this before, has always been fairly quick at the recovery as his partners gasped and groaned and sprawled over pretty much everything, but is pretty sure that he wants to feel like this again. The amount of pleasure that just surged through him is enough to convert any person to anything.

When he reaches his mirror, the big one that he got a few months ago at the hasty advice of Cecil, he just has to stop and _stare_. Halted in his vague quest towards the shower.

…He’s still bleeding slightly.

From the mark in the centre of his chest that Cecil left when he followed him over. But that’s not even the _main_ thing, the matter worthy of comment. His upper half is absolutely covered with dried blood. It sticks to him, in clumpy patches of dull crimson – it’s thickest around the obvious bite marks, but often trails down his chest as if it dripped and he was just too distracted to notice. He’s surprised to find that it doesn’t ache that much, as he gently lifts a hand to probe at the thickest clot of blood. He’s even more surprised at the large flicker of pleasure, as he draws his fingers away to examine the dusty red clinging to them.

…It’s beautiful.

More than beautiful – stunning, amazing, _perfect_. He’s never considered himself all that attractive, but littered with the marks of Cecil’s regard… It’s stunning, the second most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen. He can’t help but move closer to the mirror, probe at his wounds with a certain amount of wonder.

“Carlos?” And he’s only distracted by the voice of the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen, wavering out behind him in a way that is both slightly uncertain and definitely proud, “I know you wanted a shower, but… Is there room for two, maybe? Just possibly? It’s just that I have a show tomorrow, and you _know_ how station management gets when employees come in smelling of sex.”

He smiles to himself, in the mirror. Traces Cecil’s deepest mark, right over his heart.

…And then turns, grabs Cecil’s arm and drags him in with hands and lips and teeth and a laugh so fond that he can barely believe he uttered it, “I’m sure that I can find at least _some_ room.”

He does _love_ Cecil’s teeth.


End file.
